Path of SHADOW
by Khaz-Calowiel
Summary: My OC Tagan's story is called SHADOWPATH- for my main three character's stories all begin with SHADOW. The 'path' component is because of the lifelong jedi battle not to stray to the dark side. Path of SHADOW is If Tagan did.


**This will be a two-shot short story. I would just like to make it clear that Tagan is not like this in any other story than this. This is DARK Tagan. Normally he is caring and docile, too good-natured to think any of the things he does here. This is simply creative license. **

**Er... enjoy...**  
**Star Wars (c) George Lucas**  
**Pheobel Arn (c) Aria Cloudrunner**  
**Tagan Beta'ac, Tarani Martus (c) Lavie Nenharma **

* * *

A shadow fell across the wooden bar-top in front of Tagan Beta'ac. The way it loomed, eerily, pricked instincts in the boy that made his hand edge to his wait where a belt would normally hold his weapon- a teal Jedi lightsaber. The absence of this belt and its contents sent a flood of emotions, currently unrecognisable through Tagan and he frowned at the sadness. He did not care for these emotions.  
To distract himself, he smiled cynically at the owner of the shadow- a large maroon skinned Besalisk, who placed some strong alcohol on the table in front of Tagan, and held out one of his four appendages for some money. When Tagan did not move, the Besalisk began to say something, rudely to him, in what Tagan barely recognised as Ojom. Clearly this large bumbling bartender spoke little or no Basic. Tagan's smile smoothed out to an annoyed scowl, and he used magic to fling some coins onto the table before him. Some slid off onto the floor. At this, the Besalisk began ranting at him in Ojom, gesturing at the coins strewn across the table. He bent down and scooped them up, plucking the coins off the table and counting them, relentless with his foreign-languaged rant. Having made sure it was at least the right amount, he filed it away, still yelling at him. Tagan smirked at the bother he could cause. No worries about the money. By the time Tagan left here, that money would have dissolved back to the dust that Tagan had magically assembled it from.

Another bartender sat down on the stool beside him. She handed her apron to the Besalisk, calming him in Ojom, and seeming to conclude her shift. Tagan rolled his eyes. Did no-one speak Basic here? She turned to a tipsy guest who began smiling at her and wailing at decibels made for encouraging Nek Dogs.  
Tagan studied her, she was a Zeltron, her vibrant pink skin contrasting to her manually curled violet hair, and warm indigo eyes. She was very pretty, as Zeltrons were. Tagan has always held an unspoken awe for the beauty of Zeltrons. Tagan's mouth curled up at the left corner ruefully and lustfully.

The door to the bar opened, as it had been doing constantly for the last several hours Tagan had been inside it. But it was the familiarity of the presences that walked in that made Tagan slowly turn around. Two females, one; A very well contained Rutian twi'lek, in her usual jedi tunic, and the other; a young asian near human padawan, emenating worry and distress. Pheobel Arn, his former twi'lek master, and Tarani Martus, his fellow padawan and former best friend. They both appeared solem, but calm, and Tagan knew without sensing it, that it was due to their business in this bar- him.

Pheobel waved away a bartender, whom was offering them a round of drinks. Tarani honestly looked like she could have done with one. They sat at a table in the corner, Pheobel with his back to him, and Tarani facing him. It was plain that Tarani was trying, desperately not to look at him; probably told it would not be wise. But she slipped, and her eyes met his. She flinched away from his eye colour, paler than she was used to, due to the sudden and terrible change in his personality. Her eyes flicked away instantly, her pain a giant ripple in the force. Tagan grinned maliciously at his sudden idea, and turned back to the Zeltron. She was still chatting with other guests, now in Basic. He returned to his study of her. They way her wrists flicked daintily as she moved them, the way her feet pointed straight, her legs gracefully held. Tagan could tell- she was a dancer.  
Perfect.  
As reviered a jedi as she was, the only thing that tipped Pheobel over the edge was a jibe at her what species was known for- slave dancers. And boy did it cut deep. Tagan used to feel enormous pain and anger, and he used to protect her from those jibes, but now, it wasn't his problem. It was his advantage.  
He never got a thank-you for his defence of Pheobel's feelings, just scolding about losing his temper, and allowing things to affect him the way they did. But for once, Tagan would be enormously glad to see that signs of agony in his master's hidden body language.  
Tagan caught the attention of the Zeltron, and she, being tipsy, and a Zeltron, loved the male attention. Tagan noticed, with his usual disdain, the constant glances at his wolfen ears, which pivoted as they stuck out of his hair. Luckily, within a minute or two, they were all but forgotten.  
When Tagan had established a general positive relationship with the girl, he pulled out an alluring, sexy voice, that would have seemed dangerous if she were sober. He flattered her, and seductively stroked his tail up and down her leg. Tagan hadn't noticed exactly how intoxicated she was until she all but threw herself at him, her lips landing on his. He returned her kiss with a passion that was formerly forbidden to him, and relished the adrenaline and freedom this brought him. It also gave him more strength to support her body as she entwined her body with his on the barstool. The wave of Tarani's pain hit him like a wall, followed by small, more subtle leakages of Pheobel's disappointment- her real emotions supressed by the force inside her. Tarani, however, was beyond control, even with the force. She no longer hid her hurt stare, and did not cringe away from the tears that trickled down her cheeks.


End file.
